


One Sweet Moment

by myredturtle



Series: Forever Is Our Today [3]
Category: Frederica - Georgette Heyer, Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myredturtle/pseuds/myredturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lord Eames overhears a kidnapping plot, he decides it's up to him and his manservant Arthur to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my two April 2015 Rough Trade Challenge fics, and chronologically the final story. This was written to stand alone, and while there are oblique references to the over all arc, it can be read as a stand alone Historical AU, crossed over with Georgette Heyer's regency novel Frederica.
> 
> A big thank you to Saydria Wolfe for her beta work!

It was just after midnight in a rather dingy den on Jermyn Street, and Lord Eames the Earl of Hatherleigh was feigning an advanced level of inebriation to lull his companions into a false sense of security, and encourage them to up the stakes, when he first caught wind of the plot against the Marquis of Alverstoke’s young son.

 

With his cravat askew and his body carefully angled to present as little a threat as possible, Eames had initially been planning to win the current hand then bow out and make his way home, stumbling dramatically for effect, of course, but the words coming from a table some distance to his left caught his attention.

 

“I’m telling you, Bobby. He’s as tolerably well-blunted a cove as any you’ll find and Jimmy said that he’s as soft as you please on both his Lady and his heir. All we gotta do is nabble the brat, wait until the dibs are in tune, then we’ll stick a chive in him and be off!”

 

“Keep your voice down!”

 

The second voice sounded distinctly nervous.

 

Eames tipped his head back with his eyes closed before he feigned a start and pretended to jerk himself awake, catching a glimpse of the conspirators as he did so.

 

He only recognized one of the speakers.

 

Robert ‘Bobby’ Prendergast had arrived in town at the beginning of last season with a nice little fortune and subsequently became prey to the card sharps. He’d managed to stop playing before he ended in Marshalsea debtors prison, but it was common knowledge that his pockets were pretty much to let and he’d been punting on the river tick for months now.

 

Rather than rusticate on what was left of his estate, as would have been prudent, the not-very-interesting Prendergast had begun keeping company with a rather disreputable set and Eames wasn’t terribly surprised to see him in one of the seedier gaming hells.

 

But the conversation he was having right now was a different matter entirely.

 

“Be careful, Joe,” Prendergast's voice was quieter now but this time Eames was listening for him. “Alverstoke is devilish high in the instep and as well breached as you could wish, but he’s also said to have excellent science, and is pretty handy with his pops. It’ll be bellows to mend with all of us if he discovers any hint of our plan! And this place is too public! It would be best to finish this discussion elsewhere.”

 

“If you say so.” Joe sounded conciliatory rather than convinced. “How about the lot of us meet at Crockfords tomorrow evening? I’ll book us a private room.”

 

“Make sure you arrive on foot. And wear a cloak with a decent hood!” If Bobby’s voice was any indicator, he was under considerable stress. “And don’t, for god's sake, use my name when making the reservation! Use Jimmy’s, the whole thing was his idea anyway!”

 

“The _'_ _whole_ _thing’_ is to help you pay your debts.” Joe replied warningly before dropping his voice to a point where it could no longer be heard by Eames best efforts.

 

Bobby had a few good instincts, Eames mused as the hand he was playing drew to a conclusion. He wasn’t nearly paranoid enough to be making plans like the ones he sounded like he was making though.

 

Deciding he’d learned enough for the moment, Eames pocketed his winnings and staggered to his feet after making his incomprehensible goodbyes, and weaved his way to the door.

 

Outside it looked like the rain had cleared and, since his rooms on Stratton Street weren’t very far away, he decided to walk home rather than have the doorman find him a cab. Eames was feeling good about the prospect of some excitement and eyed several of the puddles with glee.

 

If he played his cards right, he’d be having a very good evening indeed!

 

v^v^v^v

 

Because he was looking for it, Eames could see the moment when Arthur relaxed as he identified who had just come in the door. Arthur and Eames had spent some time when they first moved in hiding various weapons in easily accessible places as neither of them felt secure without something close at hand.

 

Given the times, that meant several knives were in reach at all times with a set of loaded dueling pistols kept close to the door.

 

“Hello, love!” Eames greeted his valet as he slid the bolt home on the door out onto the corridor. “I thought you might still be up.”

 

“I see you managed to miss the rain.” Arthur observed from his chair by the fire where he was sharpening the very nasty pair of trident daggers that he’d ‘found’ at the estate sale of an old baronet in Basingstoke. His hair was damp, an indication that he’d spent the evening in the bath. This day just kept getting better. “That’s a relief, I…”

 

Eames had turned away to hang his coat, and he knew the very second that Arthur had seen the state of his new hessians, delivered from Hoby just that morning.

 

Turning back, he presented an overly innocent face of enquiry to his fuming servant.

 

“Eames! Did you purposefully trudge through every puddle you saw?” Arthur’s brows were drawn together in a ferocious scowl, which happened to look adorable since he’d changed into his nightgown already. If Eames hadn’t already had nefarious intentions towards his valet, that look would have awakened them. “Do you know how hard it is to get a shine on leather boots?”

 

“Darling, I’m truly sorry.” Eames said as he removed his gloves and slung them down on the sideboard before approaching the fire. “But look, I’ve wiped all the mud off!”

 

“Give them here.” Arthur growled, wrestling the offending items from his odious employer and inspecting them for damage. “Just look at this! Wet up to the ankle, these will take hours to polish, and that’s if they even dry in time for Exeter's ball, which is tomorrow night, if you recall!”

 

“Oh, right.” With a great deal of effort Eames _had_ forgotten about the ball his uncle the Duke was giving for his youngest child, his only daughter, and so his reply was more penitent than it otherwise might have been. “I _am_ sorry, love. Let me make it up to you?”

 

Rather than swoon gratefully into his arms, Arthur looked at him suspiciously.

 

“Eames, did you get your boots wet just so you’d have an excuse to give me a blowjob?”

 

“Of course not!” Eames replied, looking as shocked as possible. “When have I ever needed an excuse? But since you brought it up, it _is_ a rather good plan, don’t you think? In any case, come with me to the bedchamber, you’ll need to help me out of this coat. Weston does rather fine work, but his creations don’t make for quick disrobing.”

 

“Oh, very well.” Arthur rolled his eyes a little, but Eames had spotted the hint of dimples at his cheeks. Since the style of clothing Arthur could wear was restricted by the class he’d been born into, he’d taken to relieving his sartorial urges by ensuring Eames was as well dressed as possible at all times. There was little that could get him worked up as fast or as well than Eames either disregarding his advice or disgracing a carefully compiled ensemble with stains.

 

Luckily, Eames’ grandfather, the twelfth Duke of Exeter, had been both enormously wealthy and extremely fond of both his second son Charles _and_ his ne’er-do-well grandson Martin. The Duke had been able to bestow an extremely comfortable living on Charles, a living that Eames had inherited five years ago when his doting parent had contracted an inflammation of the lungs and died, leaving his orphaned son quite well off indeed.

 

The Duke had also had generously granted the living attached to one of the more prestigious of his lesser titles, and the right to use said title, to his favourite grandson.

 

The thirteenth Duke was a stuffy and slightly ponderous man who knew his filial duty and had upheld his more eccentric parent's disposition of title and fortune with the agreement that, as his nephew Martin, Eames had no issue (and had assured everyone he had no intentions whatsoever of providing himself with a wife and family), on his death both the title _and_ the estate would devolve back to whomever was the current Duke of Exeter, less any agreed upon annuities.

 

As a result, Lord Martin Eames, Earl of Hatherleigh was rather well beforehand with the world. Allowing his valet to dress him as he pleased guaranteed that the Earl of Hatherleigh had quite the reputation amongst the ton for being exceedingly well dressed at all times.

 

By the time Eames had removed all but his small-clothes, Arthur seemed to have become distinctly more enthusiastic about the proceedings, removing (and folding!) his nightshirt without any urging.

 

They tumbled together onto the bed and Arthur obligingly ceded the top spot to Eames, both dimples in full view. One dark eyebrow arched imperiously towards a slight widows peak.

 

“Wasn’t there something you needed to get to, Mr Eames? A _job_ that required tending to?”

 

“That’s _Lord_ Eames to you, darling.” Eames replied with a wicked grin, dipping his head and nuzzling at the warm place where upper thigh met lower belly. “Mmmmm.”

 

A little to the left there was definite interest stirring, but Eames was distracted, entranced by the tender skin directly beneath his tongue. He scraped his teeth gently down towards the cock rising to meet him, and groaned at the familiar musky smell. His mouth started watering slightly in a distinctly Pavlovian response.

 

“Will you just get on with it?” The words were testy, but the tone was breathless. They didn’t do this nearly as often as he would like, and Eames wondered briefly why that was? A hand gripping his hair and moving his head gently but firmly over to the hardening cock derailed the thought before it could be completed.

 

Taking pity on his long suffering valet, Lord Eames licked a long wet stripe up the centre of the leaking shaft in front of him. Arthur gave a quickly indrawn breath, and then leant back on his elbows, his eyes glued to where Eames’ lips slowly engulfed the head, drawing the entire length into the warm wetness of his mouth.

 

Eames slipped his hands beneath the tight arse attached to the hot, thick, cock down his throat, wordlessly encouraging Arthur to thrust, to fuck his face, loving the heat stretching his mouth open, the taste and the smell.

 

Arthur made a broken noise in the back of his throat and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his neck as his hips began a shallow, rhythmic motion. His legs spread a bit wider which changed the angle slightly, allowing the cock in Eames mouth to go deeper than before, his two hands clutching spasmodically at the bed covers.

 

Eames couldn't help rubbing his own erection gently against the bed covers beneath him as he sucked enthusiastically. He waited until the moment he could feel Arthur’s leg muscles tense up in the build-up to release and then pulled off, enjoying the shock and then furious exasperation that crossed his lovers face at the rush of cold air where there had just been wet heat.

 

“Don’t want this to end too soon…” Eames explained huskily, and swirled his tongue over the leaking tip, grinning at the annoyed face above him.

 

Arthur wanted to groan in frustration, but like hell he was going to give that fucker Eames the satisfaction.

 

God, the sight of those lips around his cock had been enough to get him more than halfway there and now Eames wanted to play silly buggers? It wasn’t until the large hands cupping his arse slid his cheeks apart, allowing the tips of talented fingers to trail down and brush over his hole that he realized what Eames intended.

 

This wasn’t something they indulged in often, there was just too much risk if anything went wrong. But they both loved it, and Arthur gave a full body shudder at the thought of what was to come.

 

“Turn over, love.” Arthur eagerly grabbed at the pillows as he rolled over, fully intending to enjoy every second of this. Those warm lips were wet when they closed over his hole in a kiss. Then there was an agile, slippery tongue lapping at him, laving over his tight centre.

 

He spread his legs almost helplessly, wordlessly encouraging Eames to lick deeper, to use his tongue harder, to…

 

…oh yes, there… warm, wet, pushing insistently inside him, the contrast of short whiskers abrading the tender flesh on either side. Arthur tried to move his hips, tried to get some friction against his aching cock but those large hands held him in place as that talented tongue worked him into a frenzy.

 

By the time a well oiled finger worked its way in beside the tongue, Arthur’s hole was considerably more relaxed. The tongue retreated as a second finger was added. With the slight burn of penetration came the incredible sensation of that one spot inside being stimulated with expert fingers.

 

“Look at you, love.” Eames murmured into his ear. When had he moved up the bed? “Writhing around, practically begging for it. I could have you begging, you know, if I wanted to.”

 

“Don’t you dare!” Arthur managed to get out, before his eyes rolled back at a particularly adept stroke.

 

“No?” Eames asked, tugging an earlobe into his mouth. He released it moments later to nibble at the base of the neck in front of him. “As you wish then darling.”

 

And then there was another finger inside him. The burn lasted a little longer this time, but Arthur couldn’t care less.

 

“Hurry up, Eames, now!” He gasped when his muscles felt as relaxed as they were likely to get. “Get on with it!”

 

“As you command,” came the infuriatingly smug reply and then the fingers were gone, leaving him empty for several long seconds. Before he had enough time to express his displeasure, Eames had rearranged his limbs to his own satisfaction, placing one hand in the small of his back to hold him down on the bed, and then Arthur could feel the blunt head of a cock nudging at his stretched entrance.

 

If he’d had the leverage, Arthur would've pushed back and eased the emptiness as quickly as possible, but Eames had anticipated such an action and had cleverly trapped Arthur to the point where he couldn’t move backwards unless Eames let him.

 

“You arsehole.” Arthur said with no true heat in his voice, “I’ll get you for that later.”

 

“Shh, love, I’m busy.” Eames said, and whatever Arthur would have said in reply was lost as Eames started sliding in, pausing to withdraw briefly and then begin that slow slide again, each time going deeper and deeper.

 

Arthur was unable to stop a heartfelt groan from escaping him at the sensation of being opened and truly filled again. When Eames was finally fully seated, he remained still for a long moment, his body giving the most minuscule of tremors.

 

Tired of waiting, Arthur clenched his internal muscles, smirking to himself at the sharply indrawn breath. It certainly got things moving again.

 

Eames used his knees to spread Arthur’s legs wider and then urged him backwards to end up practically sitting in his lap.

 

“God, you feel magnificent,” Eames sighed into his ear as he settled back, his mouth opening on a silent groan at the sensation, “I wish we had a big enough mirror so I could see you properly like this. Michelangelo would have wept.”

 

Arthur was shuddering, fully concentrated on the feel of the cock impaling him, going almost impossibly deep. Thanks to the width of his spread legs, he still didn’t have enough leverage to properly move, and could only whine in his throat when Eames began thrusting up into him in short, hard jabs that hit the sweet spot every time.

 

At least he had his hands free, and Eames didn’t object when he reached for his long neglected cock.

 

It was incredible, Eames strength holding him steady as his thick cock pounded up into him, his own hand stroking in counterpoint.

 

It wasn’t long before Arthur felt his muscles tightening again. This time Eames didn’t stop. This time, as Eames shoved up hard into him, he reached around with one hand to twist Arthur’s nipple, hard.

 

That was enough to send Arthur over the edge, his balls tightened and pulsed, and pleasure rushed through him in waves as his come spurted out, covering his fingers and splattering heavily onto the covers in front of him.

 

When he finally came down from his high, Arthur realized that Eames was still hard inside him just as Eames began nudging him forward so that he could reach the headboard. As soon as Arthur was able to support his own weight, Eames raised himself up slightly to align their bodies, and reached around and upwards to pull Arthur down by the shoulders, making his cock go even deeper. Arthur almost melted at the feel of that powerful body along his back, covering, almost enclosing him.

 

Several almost desperate thrusts later Eames came with a strangled groan, and Arthur could feel the warmth flooding him before Eames’ body came to rest more heavily against his back and they both collapsed in a heap on the bed.

 

v^v^v^v

 

A short while later they were both curled up in bed. Eames was always so tactile after sex, and Arthur was setting in to enjoy a protracted cuddle when Eames finally got around to telling him all about the plot he’d overheard.

 

“They're going after Alverstoke?” Arthur wasn’t at his best, he really just wanted to cuddle and then sleep, but kidnapping and murder was enough to catch his attention. “Are they insane? He's not one to be trifled with, by any means!”

 

“What's the below-stairs gossip regarding him?” Eames asked, drawing lazy circles on Arthur’s _–_ _not ticklish at all, thank you very much!_ – stomach with his thumb. Arthur batted his hand away absently.

 

“He is fair to his servants, but not one to cross.” Arthur replied after giving it a few moments thought. “There's not a lot of talk about him, which says almost as much as if there was a lot. He married one of the Merriville sisters, did he not? I heard they came to town some years back with next to nothing in their pockets, although apparently the younger one had the face and body of a goddess. Was that her?”

 

“She may have looked like a goddess, but she also had precious little in her cockloft, if memory serves me correctly.” Eames remarked with a yawn. “No, Alverstoke married the elder sister, the younger one married his cousin, the fellow that was Alverstoke's heir at the time.”

 

“Quite well played,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “That way they get the estate regardless of what happens. Well played indeed.”

 

“You are so cynical darling.” Eames slurred slightly, snuffling into Arthur's shoulder.

 

“I think you'll find the term is 'realistic'. Now shut up, we can talk more about this scheme you've uncovered tomorrow. Some of us don't live the life of the idle rich and I have to get up in the morning and go to the markets. Make yourself useful while I am gone and sort out the washing? Mrs Dalliard will be by to pick it up sometime in the afternoon.”

 

v^v^v^v

 

The next evening found Eames (sans his new hessians which had yet to dry, leaving him to wear the more conventional buckled slippers) doing his duty to his family by socializing at his cousin’s ball, moving from room to room with a smile, a laugh, and sometimes a quip, for everyone he saw.

 

While in general he tolerated events such as this with equanimity and depending on the occasion, actually enjoyed them, tonight he was rather annoyed that his familial obligations stopped him from being out with Arthur, tailing some truly havey-cavey individuals and having fun.

 

Except… over there.

 

Well, well, who would have guessed his stuffy uncle could get Alverstoke and his wife to grace Margaret's ball? Eyes alight with genuine glee, Eames bowed and nodded and smiled and greeted his way across to where the Marquis of Alverstoke was standing with the rather attractive lady who must be his wife, both of them conversing amiably with Lady Jersey.

 

Lady Jersey? Another coup! Eames decided he _must_ stop by the old mausoleum one of these days and catch up with his cousin Rupert (who would be inheriting the Dukedom, barring accident, injury and epidemic) and find out what the devil was going on. His relatives didn’t generally mix much with the ton, for all their wealth and station. It appeared that Margaret’s debut was finally bringing them out of semi-seclusion.

 

Given Eames' adept social skills and reputation for exquisite dress and amusing comportment, it wasn't difficult to wrangle an invitation to tea the next day from the Marchioness of Alverstoke, although the entire time they were talking Eames was aware of the eyes of the Marquis upon him.

 

When he chanced a glance in that direction, it was to find himself being assessed by a heavy lidded and somewhat amused gaze. Good, the last thing he needed was to be called out by a man with Alverstoke's reputation for trifling with his wife.

 

Eames' airy comment as he departed that he would be glad to see _the both of them_ when he called tomorrow was the cause of a wry mouth turning sardonic but the Marquis was as polite as his wife in his declarations of delight for the forthcoming visit.

 

Pleased with his progress, Eames rewarded himself with a glass of brandy from his uncles hidden stash before continuing on his rounds. Another three hours of this, two of those hours spent dancing, and he should be able to slip away with none the wiser. For all of Arthur's complaints about the class divide, he felt that sometimes his valet had the better deal.

 

v^v^v^v

 

That night Arthur was in a terrible mood when he finally got home.

 

“How can you stand such places?” He asked Eames as he divested himself of his outerwear and came to stand as close to the fire as he could get without setting himself aflame.

 

“They grow on you, darling.” Eames replied, helping Arthur with his boots.

 

“Like a particularly noxious fungus, no doubt.” Arthur muttered, and then threw himself back into his usual chair. “Have you asked for the bath water to be brought up?”

 

“Two days in a row, darling?” Eames beamed at his dishevelled lover, whose hair had escaped the strict confines it was usually kept in. The difference in hairstyle changed his usually impeccably turned out valet from looking like a refined gentleman's gentleman of the first stare, to more resemble a young man just heading off for his first year at Cambridge (or Oxford, if the family was misguided enough to patronise the lesser university). Eames was careful never to mention this of course, it was a sure way to receive cold shaving water for a week.

 

Arthur glared at him.

 

“You could do with one too, now that I think on it. And you didn't answer my question.”

 

“Of course I asked for water to be brought up.” Eames said indulgently. “They think I'm some sort of water fanatic. Luckily, I am well blunted and aristocratic enough that I am considered eccentric rather than insane. I hear Bedlam is somewhat less than pleasant at this time of year.”

 

“Any time of year, I should imagine.” Arthur replied sternly, but the prospect of a warm bath was working it's magic upon his demeanour and he allowed Eames to hand him a glass of burgundy 'to warm you up a little, darling'.

 

An hour later they were both drying by the fire and Arthur was in a considerably better mood.

 

“They're not the cleverest of hedge birds, Prendergast's friends.” Arthur mused over some of the Massougnes Cognac. “As ramshackle a lot as I have ever seen. There is one of them though, a Mr Brown. He seems a trifle more downy than the others. He was the one doing most of the talking and I caught him casting his eyes my way more than once.”

 

“Did you manage to get any details of their plan?” Eames asked, putting more wood on the fire and poking at it desultorily with one of the two pokers, the one without the concealed blade.

 

Arthur frowned.

 

“There will be two kidnappings. The first will be either the child or sibling of one of the under-servants, as yet unspecified, which will allow Mr Brown and his compatriots access to the house after the rest of the household is asleep. I got the distinct feeling that it didn't matter which servant was picked for the role. That it would be largely a matter of convenience.”

 

Eames swore colourfully. Well, that explained some of Arthur's grim demeanour. It was a lose, lose situation for whichever poor servant got caught up in this. Still, now that they knew what was happening hopefully something could be done.

 

“They plan to keep the children together while awaiting payment of the ransom,” Arthur continued, “just in case some sort of proof of life is asked for. Mr Brown did not say where, or what sort of proof of life he was planning on offering. But as soon as the money has been received and the men sent to collect it are away and safe, he plans to kill both children and throw their bodies in the Thames.”

 

“Why, how charming.” Eames said, stabbing harder at the blazing logs. “Well then, I suppose there is nothing for it but for Lord Eames and his trusty sidekick to save the day.”

 

There was a loaded silence.

 

“I am _not_ your _sidekick_. If anything, you are _my_ sidekick.” Arthur said, fuming away in his quilted dressing gown, his hair the kind of riot of locks and curls that regularly took the best dressers of the ton hours to achieve for their employers.

 

“Come now, darling,” Eames smiled charmingly, a good reason not to trust a word coming out of his mouth. “I _am_ the one regularly dressed up in ridiculous costumes, while you remain more sensibly dressed and in the background. It's quite clear that I am the heroic portion of this duo.”

 

“Oh really?” Arthur said dangerously. “I haven't forgotten that it's entirely your fault that I'm a valet, you know. While at first I appreciated your insistence that I be allowed to learn under Biddle, now I'm not so sure it was the right idea. If you'd just left me where you found me, I would be cosy and warm at Exeter at this moment and not about to embark on a crazy plan to foil a kidnapping!”

 

“About to? But darling, surely we've already begun? Did you not spend hours tonight spying on desperate criminals in order to further our quest?”

 

“If you don't intend to discuss this like a rational person, I'll be off to bed. Alone.” Arthur threatened, glowering at him.

 

“Very well.” Eames put the poker back in it's holder and took his seat, stretching his legs out before him so that he could toast his toes on the hearth. “I was not completely idle this evening, you know. Somehow Exeter managed to get Alverstoke and his wife to Margaret's ball, and I shall be calling on them for tea tomorrow. I would like you to come with me, if you would be so kind.”

 

Arthur frowned. “Will it not look rather strange for Lord Hatherleigh to bring his manservant with him for a morning call?”

 

Eames shrugged, wiggling his toes. “It matters not. Your description of the meeting you witnessed will likely be paramount in convincing the Dauntrys that their son is in danger. If they find your presence in their parlour objectionable, then that is their own problem.”

 

That night as he curled up alone in his smallish bed in the room off the main bedroom, Arthur once again considered just joining Eames in his bigger bed. But Eames had only ever once invited him, and that was so long ago he wasn't sure if the invitation was still current. Sharing space after sex was different to just… climbing in together.

 

At the time he had been in a state of considerable annoyance, and his response to the invitation had been a cutting rejection. Now, as he lay in bed staring at the door that separated the two chambers, he wondered if the vociferous diatribe he had subjected Eames to was the only reason the invitation had not been renewed. Sighing, he rolled onto his back to look up at the darkness. Given his own hesitation to trespass beyond his station, it was likely he'd never know.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter two

Alverstoke House in Berkeley Square was only a half a dozen doors down from Exeter House. As they approached, Eames decided that proximity was probably a good enough reason for the Dauntrys to venture out to the ball of a girl they could hardly know and had no connections to. 

It was probably the reason for Lady Jersey's presence as well.

They were admitted by a footman who conveyed them to the library, a pleasant room that was making the most of the weak sun available at that time of year. They had been waiting less than five minutes when Lady Alverstoke entered, wearing a rather fetching promenade dress trimmed with orange-blossom crape. Well, that was rather good timing. The Alverstokes must have only just arrived back at the house.

“Oh, I do hope you have not been waiting long!” she exclaimed, extending her hand in greeting. Eames bowed over it briefly, releasing it without an attempt to hold on a moment too long, which would have signalled a hope on his part to engage in clandestine activities. 

Her smile widened, becoming more genuine. Her gaze flicked curiously to Arthur.

Eames was pleased to see her nod an acknowledgement with an intelligent interest in her eyes but other than that she made no move in the valet's direction. Polite and welcoming, but not quite in the ordinary way, he was beginning to see what Alverstoke (at one time given up on by the matchmaking mamas in society as a confirmed bachelor) had found in her to attract him.

“Not at all, Lady Alverstoke.” He demurred smoothly. “I hope you don't mind that my valet has joined me here me today. There is something that I must speak to you and your husband about and Arthur… is necessary.”

“No, no, I am pleased to make his acquaintance.” She said agreeably, smiling in a friendly fashion upon them both. “My husband will be with us momentarily. Please, take a seat. You too, Arthur, you look very awkward hovering there by the door. Can I get you any refreshments?”

“Tea would be lovely.” Eames smiled at her charmingly and took a seat close to the fire. Lady Alverstoke rang the bell, and asked the servant who answered to send a tea tray in, before turning to Arthur with her eyebrows raised.

“Thank you my lady, I would prefer to stand.” Arthur answered her unspoken question with dignity. Then he ruined the effect by flashing his dimples briefly as he bowed before walking over to stand behind Eames.

“You must know that I am consumed with curiosity,” Lady Alverstoke confided with sparkling eyes and an anticipatory air about her. “I never thought I would miss the trouble my younger brothers managed to get into, but since they have gone off to school I find my life sadly flat. My eldest son, Edward, is still too young to create much havoc, so the prospect of some excitement is most welcome!”

Arthur stiffened, his already rather formal posture going rigid. Eames glanced up at him warningly, and then turned to the Marchioness.

“I am afraid my news is not of the amusing variety, your ladyship.” He said apologetically. “I wish that it was, but it is more a matter of grave importance to your family and I felt we should inform you of it as soon as possible.”

Lady Alverstoke's facial expression didn't change a great deal but her eyes immediately dimmed and became more calculating. Eames' respect for her rose even higher. This woman would be a formidable opponent should things come to that. It made him feel significantly better about his decision to inform her of the plot at the same time as her husband.

Just then Alverstoke, impeccably attired in morning dress with boots whose shine rivalled anything Arthur could achieve, entered the library immediately ahead of a footman with the tea things. Greetings were exchanged and tea was poured, and it wasn't until the footman closed the doors on his departure that anything other than civilities were uttered.

Alverstoke raised his eyebrows in a rather aloof manner and inspected Eames thoroughly through his quizzing glass.

“So, you are Charles' son then. I must say that I am somewhat surprised to see you, your lordship. Is there some way her ladyship and I may be of assistance to you?”

Eames found it difficult to stop the grin from forming on his face. He liked these people. It was rare to come across someone who managed to speak completely polite words, yet convey a meaning that was anything but.

Too often those of the ton simpered and smirked, while speaking insults as soon as one turned one's back. This man would happily insult you to your face, but in such polite language it would be impossible to accuse him of provocation.

Here and now Alverstoke seemed to want to know what the devil Eames was about, and appeared to have little patience with obligatory small talk.

“Vernon, stop being so uncivil!” His wife remonstrated in a playfully chiding manner, “Lord Eames says he has something to divulge which is of grave importance to our family, so I'll thank you to refrain from giving him a set-down! At least until we have his information.”

The Marquis' glance towards his wife was not the slightest bit angry for being taken to fault in front of what were essentially strangers, and Eames was somewhat surprised when his stern countenance unbent significantly.

“Please, accept my apologies.” Alverstoke said, taking a seat on the sofa beside his wife. “What is this news that you have for us, Hatherleigh?” Unspoken was the question, 'And why are you telling me whatever this is with my wife present?'

“Of course, and call me Eames, please, both of you,” Eames replied letting his amusement show for a moment. “Lord Eames was always my father, and I have been Hatherleigh for less than ten years. It still feels odd.”

“I know your meaning,” Alverstoke said with the ghost of a grin. “It took me at least a decade myself.”

“I will come right out with it.” Eames said heavily, his demeanour sober. “Two nights ago, I was… let us just say 'out amongst some friends playing cards', when I overheard part of a conversation. To be frank, the two… well, let's call them gentlemen since a lady is present, remarked on your wealth and referred briefly to a scheme whereby they would liberate you of a substantial amount. By the means of abducting, ransoming, and then murdering your son.”

Lady Alverstoke gave a small gasp, but when Eames glanced in her direction he saw that she was maintaining complete control of herself. Lord Alverstoke covered her hand with his own, and turned his grim and foreboding countenance towards the two newcomers. His eyes gave Arthur a distinctly more thorough inspection, before returning to Eames, who was waiting to continue.

“Then it seems we shall be in your debt, Eames. What further information do you have of this plot?”

“I was able to hear of plans for a further rendezvous last night, and since I was otherwise engaged, as you are already aware, I sent my valet Arthur to do a little reconnaissance.”

The Marquis and Marchioness turned their attention to Arthur, who was attired humbly but with the exacting nicety of every highly-prized valet of the higher aristocracy. Arthur came forward, and spoke of the events of the previous evening, sparing none of the detail, and making sure to include descriptions of the eight conspirators present, leaving Baronet Prendergast for last.

Lady Alverstoke had gone stiff, either with shock or outrage, but her eyes were blazing in her pale face. She leaned into her husband's support but it was clear to Eames that the Marquis was gaining as much support as she was.

“Prendergast?” Alverstoke asked after turning the information he had just received over in his head, a frown creasing his brow. “I've never heard of the man. This Mr Brown, however… he sounds familiar. Tell me Arthur, do you believe him to be northern or southern?”

“He spoke well, my lord, with no clear accent.” Arthur replied cautiously. “I could not give you a reason, but my feeling is that he's a northerner. Perhaps some inflection to a word or two that sounded wrong to my southern ears. Most certainly of the aristocracy though. I would swear my life to it.”

“Yes, I wonder...” Alverstoke mused and then visibly gathered himself together. “I thank you both for telling us this. Hopefully with foreknowledge we will be able to forestall these despicable miscreants who plan to murder children.”

“Please, it was the least we could do.” Eames said, before releasing his restraint and giving free rein to the dangerous smile that had been trying to surface. “Now that you are aware of the situation, what are we going to do about it?”

“You will help us?” Lady Alverstoke asked gratefully. “Oh, thank you both so much. I do not know what I would do if Edward was taken from me. And, thank goodness Jessamy and Felix are away at school, Vernon. Can you imagine the mess they would make of this?”

“Only too well.” her husband agreed. “There is little to be thankful for in this mess, but your brothers' absence and the good fortune and good nature of these two gentlemen is most assuredly such.”

“We cannot just remove you and your family to your estate at Alver.” Eames explained to the two worried parents. “We are aware of the current plot, if you were to be moved outside their reach they would no doubt choose some other wealthy lord with a young child to perpetrate this infamy upon. No, we must set a trap and be rid of these foul villains. The question is how to achieve this while putting your family in as little danger as possible.”

“I feel that resolving this matter may take some time.” Alverstoke said, rising to his feet and flicking the long tails of his morning coat out behind him. “My wife and I would be delighted for you both to join us for a light nuncheon, after which we can retire to a more private part of the house with some of my more trusted servants to come up with a way to ensure my children are safe. Then we can continue with the rest of the plan.

After eating they gathered in one of the upstairs sitting rooms, along with Knapp, Alverstoke's valet, Wicken, the family butler, Curry, the head groom, and Walter and James, two of Wicken's most trusted footmen.

Lady Alverstoke refused to be dismissed from the discussion at hand and listened intently to all speakers, remaining silent until it became clear that the best trap involved the use of her son Edward as bait, and that her husband was about to agree to the idea, at which point she entered the deliberations.

“No! No Vernon, I will not have it! I refuse to let you put my son into such danger! I absolutely refuse!”

“I cannot ask another man to risk his child when I will not.” Alverstoke's voice was firm as he spoke to his distressed wife, but he did go to her and try to take her hands in his. She ripped them out again, and glared at him furiously. 

“Do you want to be the one to explain to another mother that her son is less important than yours?” Alverstoke asked her gently. “There are no certainties, but I will have some measure of surety of this plan's success before I consider agreeing to place our son anywhere near danger. If we cannot do so, then we will pack up and go back to Alver, I promise you.

“But Frederica… if we do not scotch this plan and destroy this group of villainous rogues while we have the chance, how will we ever believe ourselves to be safe? We must do this, Frederica, we must. I am sorry.”

With that the Marchioness threw herself on her husband's chest, weeping while he stroked her hair. Fortunately, her despair did not last for long. Several very awkward minutes later, she extricated herself from Alverstoke's embrace, blew her nose and then fixed them all with a stare that would have done a Sergeant Major proud.

“Very well, if it must be done it must be done. But I assure you, gentlemen, there is no place on earth you can hide from my wrath should this folly turn out badly.”

“Of course, my lady.” Eames said as reassuringly as possible. “Now, as far as the idea of constantly tailing the conspirators goes, the biggest problem I can see is the issue of finding trustworthy manpower.”

“Until Edward was born, my heir was a young gentleman of the name of Endymion Dauntry,” Alverstoke began, pacing before the fireplace. “When I bought him his cornetcy in the Guard,s I made the acquaintance of Colonel Charles Stanhope. Since the end of the war, the Colonel has been somewhat concerned with finding gainful occupation for his soldiers. If the matter is presented to him properly, he might be persuaded to lend some of them for this cause.

“Not to mention the no doubt many infantry men he will have knowledge of who are in need of employment. I would accept any he was to recommend as trustworthy enough, the question is, would they have the required skills at skulking around?”

“If the men we are considering served as infantry in the war and survived, I have no doubts that they are skilled and canny individuals.” Eames said, feeling more enthusiastic.

“Another question,” Arthur mentioned while they were thinking this over. “Shall we alert Bow Street? If the Life Guard is called upon to help, I don't see how we can avoid it.”

“Yes, that's true.” Alverstoke agreed. “Pity, it would make me happier if the perpetrators of such infamy had no chance to escape justice.” There was no doubt as to his meaning, but no one in the room looked surprised, or even disapproving. Lady Alverstoke practically beamed at her husband.

“Oh, I think you can be sure of justice being done, my lord.” Eames responded with a nasty grin. “My uncle Exeter spends all fall hunting with Sir Robert Baker, the chief magistrate. If my uncle were to ask him to take a personal interest in this case, I have no doubt that the whole affair could be tied up quite neatly, with no chance of the miscreants escaping the hangman’s noose. You will need to accompany me to Exeter House, however. I have a reputation for pulling pranks, and he may not believe only my word.”

“Just as soon as Walter comes back from observing the next meeting.” Alverstoke looked amused for the first time since Arthur had spoken of what he had witnessed. He thanked his servants and sent them on their way, before glancing at Eames' chagrined expression. 

“After all,” the Marquis explained with mock sincerity, “it behoves me to speak to the Duke with full confidence that what I say is indeed correct and not a joke being played by an impertinent nephew.”

Eames face was a study of wounded innocence, and he even went so far as to lay a hand on his heart.

“My Lord, I confess to astonishment that you could cast such aspersions on my character! You have quite hurt my feelings, sir!”

“Doing it a trifle too brown.” Alverstoke said with a twinkle in his eye. “And amongst my friends I am known as Vernon, or Ver. I would be honoured if you were to address me as such.”

Eames inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“And considering the service you've done and continue to do for my family, that offer is extended to you as well, Arthur. While we are in private, anyway.”

“I would invite you to call me Martin, but in truth none of my friends call me that.” Eames remarked, breaking the silence following Arthur's shocked bow. “Come now, Arthur, it can't be that strange to find decent human beings amongst the ton, surely?”

“There's no way I can answer that question without being either insulting or untruthful.” Arthur replied dryly. “I think I will be asking Mr Dalliard about the possibility of having liver served with your breakfast for a while.”

“Oh darling,” Eames said sadly. “You would only be injuring yourself. I would eat your breakfast, and you would be left with the liver.”

“I like liver.”

“Darling, no!” Eames flinched back dramatically. “I had no idea it had gotten so bad.”

He turned to their amused audience.

“It pains me to divulge this, but perhaps you will not judge him so harshly. Arthur likes to eat healthily.”

“There is nothing wrong with that!” Lady Alverstoke came to the beleaguered valet's defence. “It comes of growing up in the country, I think. We are used to eating vegetables that have just been picked, and meat that has not undergone the rigours of journeying to town. I find eating in the country to be a much more pleasant experience all round, even if there is less variety. Speaking of eating, will you gentlemen be dining with us tonight? I would like to introduce you both to my son Edward.”

v^v^v^v

That evening, both Arthur and Eames stayed home. Before they left Berkeley Square there had been discussion about Arthur joining Walter on his mission that night. In the end it was decided that it was too risky. Instead, they decided to both spend the evening in the apartments next door which Eames had also rented and that he had set up as a training area for his knife throwing 'hobby'. This way Arthur could keep in practice as well, as long as they were being paid full price without the extra work, the Dalliards were only too happy to keep quiet about it.

Arthur had been almost silent since they returned home, and while he wasn't precisely loquacious by nature, this level of introspection was unlike him. By the time they were eating a late supper, Eames finally had enough.

“Is there something bothering you, darling?” he asked, in as irritating a manner as he could manage.

“And that's another thing!” Arthur burst into speech, as if a conversation had been going on the entire time. “Behaving in such a familiar manner in front of near strangers! We agreed on privacy, Eames, and today you seemed determined to display our… arrangement in front of two people with a staggering number of connections! Or do you forget the rumour that Sally Jersey used to be bosom-beau's with Alverstoke's sister? Do you want to be the subject of malicious on-dits? You can't do this Eames, it's just too dangerous.”

“Darling,” said Eames, highly startled at Arthur's vehemence, “I wasn't aware you felt so strongly about the matter. You've never indicated your preferences one way or the other before.”

“I've never seen you so seemingly intent on revealing 'the matter' before!” Arthur accused, his voice a study in anger and frustration. “The Marquis of Alverstoke is reputed to be a very high stickler indeed, and the last thing we need is for him to cut up stiff about things that he has no need to know about!”

“Did he really seem such an unreasonable man to you?” Eames asked carefully, as if each word might set off an explosion.

“No! Yes! I mean, I don't know!” Arthur exclaimed, subsiding into one of the chairs. “That's the whole point, isn't it? We can never know for sure. And his wife! She seemed like a lovely woman, and she was certainly appreciative of what we had done and were planning on doing regarding the safety of her son, but when that is all over who's to say she won't let something slip in one of the gossip sessions the ton love so much? For all we know, when her son's life isn't in danger she's an infernal gabster!”

“You're right, of course.” Eames took a seat opposite Arthur. “I am sorry darling. I judged the risk to be worth it, I felt that their character was such that we would have no problems. But I'm not the only one involved, and I forgot that you had as much right as me to either reveal or conceal 'the matter'. More in fact, because your whole livelihood is at risk, whereas I could just retire from society as an eccentric bachelor.”

Something about that statement caused Arthur to look briefly as if he wanted to be ill, but before Eames could properly analyse it, it was gone.

“Just-” Arthur broke off and put his head in his hands. “I think it's better if nobody knows. All right?”

“All right darling,” Eames agreed, wanting to ease Arthur's mind. He had been hoping that showing Arthur that he wasn't ashamed of him in any manner would please his finicky valet, but it just seemed to have wound him up further. “I'll be rather more circumspect in future, I promise you.”

“Thank you.” Arthur said, his voice muffled somewhat by the position he was sitting in. When he finally raised his face, he looked tired, and much older than he had any right to. Eames felt a twinge of guilt that he was the one causing the person he loved more than any other pain, and silently resolved to do anything to restore his presently angsty valet to his usual state of amused exasperation.

v^v^v^v

The next day, one of Alverstoke's footmen arrived with a note asking Eames to accompany him on a visit to the Colonel of the Life Guards. Arthur fussed about until he was satisfied that Eames wouldn't embarrass him, and sent him off at the agreed time with a stern warning to watch where he put his feet.

Eames laughed, delighted that Arthur’s bad mood appeared to have dissipated, and pinched Arthur's bottom as he went out the door. He decided a quick getaway was probably in order, and quickened his stride at the sound of an outraged squawk behind him.

He found the Marquis waiting for him in a curricle drawn by two beautifully matched greys. They exchanged the usual greetings as Eames hoisted himself up to sit in the passenger seat, and then moved off at a steady trot.

“I must congratulate you on your eye for horse-flesh.” Eames remarked, watching the action of the pair in front of them. “I've rarely seen such exceptional horses so well matched. Their forward action is particularly pleasing, the high-steppers always appear too high strung to be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Alverstoke replied. “They cost me enough. I was in a bidding war for them with Lethbridge and if it wasn't well known at the time that his pockets were pretty much to let he might have won. But they've been worth every penny. They've never once in the six years I've had them come up lame for no discernible reason. They're sweet goers too, well up in work. Do you handle the ribbons?”

“I am but the veriest whipster, I assure you!” Eames said modestly. “However, I do admit to enjoying driving. My father spent some time instructing me, and he was a charter member of the BDC, you know.”

“You never gave thought to joining yourself?” Alverstoke inquired as they reached Hyde Park Corner. There was plenty of traffic around, and Eames waited until the Marquis had finished skilfully wending his way through it before continuing the conversation.

“No, a bit too structured for my liking.” Eames basked in the look of scepticism cast his way. “I have never enjoyed conforming to disciplines that have been laid down by others.”

“I have yet to see a great deal of either discipline or structure in the BDC.” Alverstoke commented dryly, pulling up in front of the gates to the Barracks to await permission to enter. 

Eames laughed. “Even a little can be too much at times.”

They were given leave to enter, so Alverstoke went through and shortly afterwards brought the curricle to a halt in front of some huge front doors. He handed the ribbons to one waiting stable boy while another went immediately to the horses heads.

They found the Colonel in his office going over drill rosters. The genial old man was delighted to have an excuse to put the paperwork aside for a time.

“It always looked like such glamorous position, when I was a lieutenant.” Colonel Stanhope said after the introductions had been performed, gesturing towards his laden desk as he joined them in chairs by the fire with a glass of claret. “No one ever mentioned the fantastic amount of organisation that falls to the dupe who agrees to it.”

“Is it not a royal appointment?” Eames asked curiously.

“Yes indeed,” answered the Colonel, “but traditionally the appointee 'volunteers' and only then is granted right to lead the guards. Load of ceremonial tosh, but there you have it. The military loves it's ceremony.

“That lad you sent me Alverstoke, young Dauntry. Turned out to be one of my most capable men, don't you know! Nothing in his brain-box, of course, but he was exceptional at following orders without trying for 'interesting' interpretations. Got the work done, and that was that. He has been missed around here since he sold out and took himself off to the Shires. Breeding horses, or farming, or some such, wasn't it?”

“Yes indeed.” Alverstoke looked slightly bored at this glowing recommendation of the young man who had until recently been his heir. “He's married to my wife's sister and situated in Yorkshire, which is a happy distance.”

The Colonel let out a guffaw. “Yes, I can see as how you'd prefer not to be neighbours. He was a good chap to have under your command, but making conversation with the fellow was more than a trifle tedious. Nonetheless, you haven't come to see me today to talk about that.”

After a quick glance between them, Eames gestured to Alverstoke to begin and so the Marquis laid out the events of the last few days, including the plans that had been tentatively put forward to ensure that the villains were stopped.

“What?!” Colonel Stanhope interrupted part way through the explanation, “Do you mean to say you told your wife of this?”

“I was not given the choice,” Alverstoke responded, casting a sardonic eye in Eames' direction. “However, I would have told her regardless. My wife is a sensible woman, but I have no wish to endure her anger if I were to begin making choices for our whole family without her input.”

The Colonel looked staggered at this pronouncement, and even Eames, who had seen them together, felt surprised at the level of equality the Marquis' words described.

Allowing a woman so much power in a marriage was almost unheard of, royal marriages excepted, of course. The Colonel said so.

Alverstoke just laughed at their expressions. “My wife almost single-handedly raised her younger brothers, chaperoned her sister, and organised the disposition of her father's estate, and then, following his death, her eldest brother's estate. All from the time of her mother's death when she was little more than a girl. I can assure you, gentlemen, I allow her nothing. Now, if we may continue?”

From then on there were no further interruptions, and when the whole story was told, the Marquis finally sat back in his chair and sipped his wine while the Colonel thought things over.

“And you have confirmed this information, you say?” Colonel Stanhope's whole manner had changed from that of genial squire to a demeanour that more resembled Eames' idea of a battle-hardened General.

“Yes indeed.” Alverstoke nodded. “One of my most loyal footmen observed another meeting last night. Nothing was learned that we did not already know, other than the time and place for the next meeting, but it did allow me to corroborate Lord Eames story.”

“Is there any sort of time frame we are looking at here?” Came the next question.

“Not that we are aware of.” Alverstoke said, his voice mirroring his own frustration with the lack of information. “No doubt there is some sort of plan, but they have yet to discuss that part of things where our men can overhear them.”

“Hmmm.” Colonel Stanhope sat back, looking intently between the two men facing him as he drummed his fingers absentmindedly against the arm rest of his chair. “So, what aid exactly do you wish of the Life Guards? Most are good, loyal, men of the crown, but the sort of work you would need is beyond most of them. They've never been required to keep a low profile. Quite the reverse in fact. No, what you need are some of the infantry men. The problem there, is that there's precious little work in London for a retired soldier, and most have made their way back to their original homes, or are working as labourers.”

“I am willing to provide a pension and acceptable living quarters on my land to twenty retired infantry men of good standing. If they can be vouched for,” Alverstoke made his offer in a level tone, his eyes conveying the seriousness of the matter. “If not otherwise employed they may be required to assist at harvest time, if it's a good year, and they may leave my lands at any time with their pension intact.”

“A generous offer for what may only be the work of a week or two.” Colonel Stanhope remarked shrewdly. “We will need to be a little more specific as to how much this pension will be and what the living quarters will consist of, but I believe with an offer like that you shouldn't have any trouble finding the men you need.”

“I agree.” Alverstoke replied, “If it were not imperative that I keep any defensive actions quiet I would advertise in the watering houses along all the main thoroughfares. However, I have neither the time to proceed cautiously nor the freedom to proceed openly, so I have come to you in the hope that you will know of some suitable men who can both perform the tasks I need them to perform and be trusted not to throw their lot in with my enemy in the hope of a larger cut.”

“Very well.” Colonel Stanhope's face relaxed again, back to genial squire. Eames was impressed. “You did me a good turn the day you convinced me to accept your cousin into the Guards. I'll have twenty men for you, the day after tomorrow. I trust that I will be kept informed of the progress of this mission? I may be able to render further assistance if matters should change.”

“You have my most heartfelt thanks.” Alverstoke said as he and Eames rose to their feet. “The Duke of Exeter is good friends with Sir Robert Baker, and Lord Eames and I are hoping to get some sort of official sanction for our side of what will no doubt occur.”

“Splendid!” Colonel Stanhope exclaimed and they exchanged bows of farewell.

On the way out to the curricle, Alverstoke asked if he would be expected to do all the talking with the Duke as well.

“No, no,” Eames replied. “So long as you are able to confirm that my words are true, he will have no difficulty in hearing them from me. A misspent youth coming back to haunt me, I fear.”

“Did you enjoy your youth?” The Marquis asked blandly.

“Why yes, I did rather.” Eames answered with a reminiscent grin.

“Then it was not misspent.”

v^v^v^v

Late that morning, Eames had sent a note around to his uncle informing him of his expected arrival on a matter of importance, so it was no surprise that they were shown immediately into the impressive library of Exeter House. Eames had never yet been in that sombre room without wanting to do something outrageous like swing from the chandelier. The whole room radiated smug affluence, and in Eames' oft expressed opinion, it could do with a bit more excitement.

After the usual bows had been exchanged and the Duke had expressed his happiness at seeing his nephew again, they got down to business. This time Eames took the lead, and to his surprise the Duke never once asked that Alverstoke corroborate his nephew's story.

When Eames expressed his hope that his uncle would speak to Sir Robert Baker in their behalf to ensure that there would be no official repercussions should some (or all) of the murderous ruffians meet their end in what was likely to be a rather extensive brawl, he was surprised when he received instant agreement.

“Of course, dear boy, of course.” The Duke of Exeter's whole personality could almost have been designed to illustrate the term 'avuncular', and Eames reflected that he really could have done a lot worse when it came to family members. The majority of his family indulged him shamefully, even if they tended not to take him very seriously.

With that hurdle crossed, Eames managed to exit the house without finding himself inveigled into any family parties, which was an achievement in itself.

“Would you care to stop at Alverstoke House?” asked the Marquis as they made to re-enter the curricle. “I would like to introduce you to both my current secretary, Septimus Trevor, and his older brother Charles, who was my secretary before abandoning me for the post of secretary to the Prime Minister. They've recently been visiting with their father and arrived in town early this afternoon, not long before I set out. They're both intelligent and discreet and they may be of great assistance in an organisation capacity if nothing else.”

“Of course.” Eames responded, wondering why they had bothered to return to the curricle, as Alverstoke House was only a few hundred metres down the road. Something of his feelings must have showed on his face, because the Marquis' mouth quirked slightly with wry humour. He didn't say anything though, and a few moments later they alighted again.

Septimus and Charles Trevor were revealed to be amiable young men with a marked family resemblance between them. Had Eames not already been made aware of their relationship to each other, it would have been perfectly obvious at first glance. Alverstoke didn't appear to stand on much ceremony with either of them, and their manner towards him showed great respect as well as the expected deference towards one who was both more highly born, and very wealthy.

After Alverstoke had introduced the two young men to Eames, all four withdrew to partake of a rather fine nuncheon in the upstairs saloon. After the servants left the room, Charles opened up the conversation.

“All right then sir, it's time to open the budget. Don't go thinking you can gammon me with your coaxing ways. Something is very clearly afoot, and if I can, I wish to be of assistance. I am well aware of how I came to be considered for such a prestigious position, and it's well past time I returned the favour. Not to mention, Chloë would be greatly displeased with me if she discovered I had done nothing to help you.”

Feeling like they had spent all day telling this story, Eames listened while Alverstoke went through what they knew again.

Charles and Septimus both listened intently.

When the recitation was over, Charles made a thoughtful noise before standing to go and stare out of the window for a few moments.

“This Mr Brown,” he said slowly. “He interests me a great deal. I think it's important to identify him so that we know who exactly is behind all of this.”

“Agreed.” Alverstoke said, with a slight smile gracing his face. “That is why tomorrow night Curry will be going to spy on them. In disguise, of course. Anyone particularly familiar with me will recognise Curry, but in the same vein, he will recognise most of the men I've had dealings with over the years.”

“That's a good plan. I believe Arthur and I will be able to be of assistance there,” Eames interjected smoothly. “We've had some experience in the matter of making ourselves unrecognisable and can give him some valuable tips on how to alter his voice and carriage in a manner that is convincing. Why don't you instruct Curry to attend me at my rooms in Stratton Street. If he returns there to have his disguise removed and perhaps stay the night, anyone who might manage to tail him won't be led anywhere near Berkeley Square and we won't risk tipping them off.”

Once that was agreed, Charles and Septimus decided to retire to the library to draw up plans for the deployment of the men that they were hoping Colonel Stanhope would provide. Charles offered to perform the interviews – an offer that Alverstoke accepted with alacrity. Septimus asked to sit in on them, hoping to learn from his more worldly and experienced brother

“Whatever would I do without the Trevor family to organise my life for me?” Alverstoke only sounded slightly teasing. “I shall be all at sea when Septimus also leaves me for a brilliant career.”

“Our oldest nephew Eustace will likely be old enough to serve you by then.” Septimus said with a grin. “Fear not, sir, you won't be abandoned.”

Eames snorted slightly, although by the time Alverstoke had turned back towards him he was able to show a blank expression.

“I shall leave you to it then, Vernon.” Eames said as evenly as he could. “Arthur and I will call on you the day after tomorrow to discuss anything new. If an emergency arises, please send a card around and we will be here as soon as possible.”

And because the weather was fine, if a little chilly, Eames walked home, eager to tell Arthur everything that had occurred.

v^v^v^v

That night, Eames made the rounds of the more prestigious of the clubs that he belonged to, finishing at and spending the longest at Whites.

After spending some time mocking the latest entries in the betting book, he joined a group of slightly older men that he believed to have been contemporaries of his father in a game of whist. They made way for him graciously enough once he'd introduced himself. They had needed another player so his arrival was fortuitous but he was aware the entire time the game was in progress that they were eyeing him speculatively.

Halfway through the game, Lord Stanton (who was facing the door) gave a slight start. “Oh I say!” he exclaimed, slightly louder than was polite, “Alverstoke has decided to grace us with his presence, has he?”

Blast! The last thing they needed was to be linked together socially after their drive earlier in the day. They still had no idea who the mastermind behind the plot was, and any unusual interaction might tip him off.

Eames didn't let his dismay touch his expression, and raised one eyebrow to his neighbour in silent query.

“Alverstoke used to be one of the regulars, don't you know, but since he got leg-shackled a few years ago he rarely makes an appearance in town, let alone his old haunts.” Mr Satterthwaite sounded immensely disapproving, as if Alverstoke's absence had been a personal slight.

“His family's still young, isn't it?” Eames asked, as if looking for confirmation of something he'd heard.

“Well, that's no reason to refrain from the more manly pursuits, is it?” Satterthwaite said in aggrieved tones. “Whoever heard of a man of means choosing to stay at home of an evening? The man's gone soft in the head, I tell you. It's what comes of marrying late. You take my advice, young Eames, and get yourself a wife before you turn queer.”

Eames choked on his mouthful of burgundy, and a snowy white handkerchief was proffered to him by a familiar looking elegant, yet strong and capable hand. A hand that he had spent some time watching handle the reins of a mettlesome pair, earlier in the day.

“Ah, Alverstoke,” Stanton said heartily, “we were just saying how delightful it is to see you gracing our poor establishment once again.”

“One does what one can,” Alverstoke murmured, with only one brow slightly raised. “Good evening, Stanton, Satterthwaite, Hatherleigh, Cavendish.” And then he moved away to where his old friend Mr Moreton was presiding over some dice.

Cavendish released a breath he must have been holding. “By all that's wonderful, he doesn't half give you a shiver, does he? How did he even get over here so quickly?”

The others were staring at the handkerchief Eames was still holding, although it was no longer snowy white. It had initials embroidered at one corner, a V and a D, entwined on a background of A.

It was quite lovely actually, and Eames spent a few moments admiring it until the stares of his companions indicated they were waiting for him to give some kind of explanation.

“I met him a few nights ago at my cousin's come out ball?” he hazarded, looking to see if that was enough. It wasn't. “I found his wife quite lovely, and apparently he knew my late father.” That appeared to do the trick and they went back to their game.

Eames carefully waited until one of the others showed signs of fatigue before he made his own motions towards leaving.

He'd had enough for one night. He hadn't really wanted to go out in the first place, and right now he could think of nothing more desirable that joining Arthur by the fire, listening as Arthur berated him for some stain or mark that had appeared on his clothes. There were several new wine stains on what had been spotless and rather stylish light yellow shirtsleeves. Arthur was sure to go spare.

v^v^v^v

The next night, Eames and Arthur took great pains to ensure that Curry; firstly, looked nothing like himself, and secondly, did not move, sit or speak like himself.

“You are, for all intents and purposes, a spy for the evening.” Eames informed the groom as he corrected the man's posture again. “You should know in advance, that spies who get discovered, get killed. In very nasty, painful, humiliating, ways. It's not just young Edward's life that depends on your deception tonight, it is your own. So, do it again. No! Don't straighten up that way! Arthur, is there some way that we can tie him so that he can't straighten up?”

“Here, try it like this.” Arthur said, and a few moments later Curry was trussed up like a Christmas goose. This time when he came into the room and went to greet Eames as per their training, he didn't straighten up, instead giving a very realistic groan of pain.

“Much better!” Eames cheered. “Now, just make sure you use your 'disguised' voice, or do you think we should punch you in the throat to make that more authentic too?”

“No, no!” Curry said hurriedly, and then at Eames' raised eyebrow, “No, no!” in the raspier version that they had agreed on for his spying mission.

“Very good.” Eames smiled benevolently down at the hunched over head groom, who was no doubt second guessing his offer to be the one listening in on the conspirators tonight. “Now, try it again from the beginning. In fact, from now on, you are in character. That means that every move you make, every word you speak, every thought you think, will belong to the man you are portraying. Now. From the beginning.”

When Eames and Arthur were both satisfied that Curry wouldn't give himself away at the earliest opportunity, they let their disgruntled duckling go out into the world and sat down to play a game or ten of two handed bridge.

“I don't know why I even bother.” Arthur muttered several hours later as he looked at the cards he had just been dealt. “It's not as if I don't know that you cheat.”

Eames just smiled charmingly and looked happily at the cards he'd picked for himself this time round. “Perhaps you should take over the dealers role permanently, darling.”

v^v^v^v

“Lethbridge!” Curry spat wrathfully the moment the door had been bolted behind him, Eames having done a quick check to ensure that no one unexpected was loitering around. “It's that utter bastard Lethbridge! When I get my hands on that sorry excuse for a… it was that difficult, Lord Eames, not to go after him tonight! I reckon only the fact that I could hardly move for the pain stopped me, so I'll thank you both just as soon as I get free of this confounded contraption. Because there were quite a few of them, you know, and in a soberer mind I'm not all that sure I wouldn't have been squashed like a bug.”

“There, there,” Eames said soothingly as Arthur made short work of dismantling the harness he'd devised to keep Curry bent over like a cripple. “Now that we know who he is, we can do something about it. And if we warn the magistrate in advance, his runners can confirm it and we won't have any problems ensuring that he swings for it.”

“I'll be there to see it myself, if I have to beg, borrow, or steal the fee.” Curry said, and with his disguise completely removed Arthur could see just how upset the man was. “The things they was talking of doing to Master Edward! It was all I could do to keep me chaffer closed, I tell you. That scum don't even deserve a trial, they should be left to rot with none to know where they are.”

“Come now, my good fellow,” Eames said bracingly, thrusting a glass of brandy into the overwrought man's hands as Arthur set a tray of late supper down beside the no doubt hungry groom. “We've made up a bed for you over there on the couch by the fire. Tomorrow morning we'll head over to Berkeley Square and get everything sorted out with your master.

"We'll do our best to make sure young Edward comes to no harm. Arthur and I are hardly wedded to the idea of bringing the bastards to trial either, so there may be a few unfortunate accidents in the scuffle.”

“Good.” Curry said, holding onto his brandy tightly as he was shown to where his bed had been set up. “Good.”

v^v^v^v

When Curry told his employer that the mysterious Mr Brown was in fact Lord Lethbridge, Alverstoke didn't appear quite as surprised as Eames expected him to be.

“He was one of the men I was considering.” Alverstoke explained, as Charles made a face of comprehension and took his brother urgently over to where some of the records were kept. “There have been several occasions where we've come into conflict, and as I am not in the habit of losing when something is important to me...”

Eames gave an involuntary shudder at the cold, merciless look that crossed the Marquis' face. 

Arthur's description of Alverstoke (was it only a week ago?) as a man not to be crossed flitted over his mind, and he knew at that moment that Alverstoke had gained and maintained such a reputation by being completely ruthless in all of his dealings.

It made Eames quite glad, all of a sudden, to have placed himself and Arthur so handily within the sphere of Alverstoke's protection, although that hadn't been his intention when deciding to reveal the plot.

“Charles and Septimus are about to make their way over to the Barracks. You and I need to sit down and find a way to keep my son out of this. There is no way I will allow him, or anyone else I care for, to fall under Lethbridge's mercy. The man is a sadist. I don't know why I even considered it in the first place! Frederica was right, the whole idea is nothing but madness.”

“So, find another way, and perhaps find away to ensure Lethbridge 'accidentally' falls during the contretemps? Since it would appear that his death would be no loss.”

Alverstoke gave a wintry smile that was devoid of mirth. “No loss at all. In fact, I may have Curry put out the word discreetly that there will be a bounty paid to the lucky fellow who rids the world of that parasite.”

v^v^v^v

The next few days were very busy indeed for all of those involved in the counter-plot against Lethbridge, Prendergast, and their underlings. Charles and Sepitimus were highly pleased with the men that they had hired, and all twenty veterans were incensed at the cowardliness of Lethbridge's plan. 

It was one of the veterans who came up with a solution to the problem of using Edward as bait.

“I've a friend, works at a pub not all that far away,” he suggested, holding his hat in his hand as he spoke to the Marquis. “Right decent chap, but he was born a great deal shorter than any other man I've ever met. He don't want for courage though, and he's a dab hand in a fight, 'less you've got full metal armour on. I'm sure he'd be delighted to take the lad's place, if you take my meaning. That rum-guzzler won't know what hit him when he goes to terrify a bantling and finds a wee rooster!”

So it was decided. Curry went with the retired infantry man to speak to the short man, whose name was Tim Dally, and in truth he was both very short and very willing to help. Especially when he heard the sum Alverstoke was offering in payment.

Gradually the plan came together.

On the day that the kidnapping was due to happen, Edward would be moved to the butlers quarters where he would be attended to by James the footman.

The staff would be told that the young master was ill, and Tim Dally would be installed in the young lords rooms with the Marchioness doting on him.

Wicken, Walter, Curry, Charles, and Sepitimus, would keep a discreet eye on the upstairs staff, and any that began to show unusual signs of stress would have a watch put upon them.

There would be a number of people watching Tim at all times and when he was moved there would be several people following him.

So far, there had been talk amongst the kidnappers of using two different places as rendezvous points, so Arthur and Eames volunteered to watch one each.

Alverstoke ensured they would have two of his new security force by them in case more hands were necessary, but the bulk would be stationed at various points around Berkeley Square and Alverstoke House.

Several carriages would be kept waiting and ready to go in the stables two streets away, and the Bow Street Runners were going to be on hand to identify the players – namely Prendergast and Lethbridge.

Meanwhile, Arthur, Eames, and the security force all did their best to find out as much about the two noblemen as possible, compiling the information they found. Everyone knew what his crest looked like, and he had several horses with very distinctive markings. Those descriptions were circulated too.

When news came back from the latest spy session that the kidnapping was due to happen at midnight in three days, they were as ready as they could be.

Arthur and Eames spent a great deal of time practising with their weapons, and they had several sparring matches to give their fighting technique a bit of a polish.

Now, it was a matter of waiting.


	3. Chapter three

On the day in question, Arthur and Eames ensured that all preparations that were required of them were complete well before they were expected at Alverstoke House.

“Would you stop fidgeting, darling?” Eames said, flicking the cards he held from one hand to another.

“I can't help it.” Arthur replied, tapping his foot a few more times before leaping up from his chair and going to the window to look out. “I hate waiting like this. I just want to get on with it.”

“Five hours, Arthur.” Eames reminded him, amused at the signs of agitation in his usually much less flappable lover. “You're going to wear yourself out before we even get there, and then where will we be?

“I will not wear myself out. Stop being ridiculous.” Arthur said flatly. “Don't you think these windows need cleaning? I'll just pop down and get some supplies from the Dalliards. It can't hurt to get it done while we wait.”

“Wait,” Eames reached out and grabbed his valet as he went past. “You think it won't hurt for the gossip to get around that the Earl of Hatherleigh's extremely dignified valet, a gentleman's gentleman of the first stare, takes to cleaning windows to amuse himself?”

“Are you concerned more for my reputation or for yours?” Arthur asked him waspishly, but made no move to free himself from Eames grasp.

“Do you think I'm bothered even one iota what anyone thinks of me, so long as we are left alone?” Eames said softly. “Our best disguise is in anonymity, you know that. Not so long ago you were reminding me of this. So long as we seem to be like everyone else, no one cares what we do. You can clean as many windows as you choose darling, just don't get the supplies downstairs.”

“The Dalliards know better than to gossip. They get paid enough for their silence.” Arthur replied, but without conviction. His voice had lost a lot of it's heat. He no longer sounded as tightly wound, so Eames released him, carefully smoothing down the creases his hands had made in the fabric of his shirt.

“Look,” said Eames in as cajoling a manner as he could. “Why don't we just find something else to do to occupy our time?”

Arthur gave him a penetrating look that changed into comprehension rather quickly. His dimples flashed briefly before he got a hold of them, but Eames had been watching for them and crowed with success.

“Come on then, love!” He beamed as he gently herded his suddenly more malleable lover towards the bedroom. “Let's use that energy for something positive!”

“Unlike cleaning windows?” But Arthur wasn't even trying to conceal his grin any more. “Don't go thinking that I can be placated with sex all the time, Mr Eames.”

“Of course not, darling.” Eames replied soothingly as they both began undressing. “I wouldn't think of it, honestly. Would I lie to you?”

“You tell Banbury stories all the time.” Arthur retorted, relaxing back to watch his Lord finish disrobing. “I know better than to believe anything you say without at least two pieces of corroborating evidence.”

“Such a harsh denunciation of my character, darling.” Eames affected a look of sadness, which was ruined by the leer that crossed his face when he saw Arthur waiting for him. “However shall I cope? You may need to comfort me.”

“That's what we're calling it these days, is it?” Arthur grabbed one hand and jerked Eames onto the bed with him. “Come here, my Lord, and let's see how I can be of service to you this evening, shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, Arthur dove in for a kiss, groaning as Eames took control and held his face in two large hands so that it could be plundered.

“Does my Lord wish for control then?” he gasped, as that talented mouth descended to his collarbone, nipping and sucking. Eames growled in response, the sound a vibration that set Arthur's nerves racing. Eames had a thing about being called 'my Lord' in bed, and Arthur didn't often indulge him.

But rather than the vigorous ravishing that Arthur expected in response, the blonde head was raised and blue eyes met his, dark with hunger and something underlying it that was softer. Something that remained unnamed between them.

“I wish for whatever you chose you grant me.” Eames said, and his face was as serious as Arthur had ever seen it. Their next kiss was slower, softer, and this time neither of them closed their eyes.

When it finished, they rested their foreheads together for a few moments.

“So, am I going to get laid, or are we going to sit here like giant mush balls for the next five hours?” Arthur felt a bit giddy, and was sure that he sounded as awkward as the words felt, but it made Eames smile. 

Before he knew it, he was being rolled around on the bed.

“Oh, if you insist, Arthur darling. If you insist.” And then they were kissing and play-wrestling and laughing. Eames got his sneaky fingers down to Arthur's — not ticklish, thank you very much — sides and had him howling until a stray flail of his foot caused his knee to catch Eames in the stomach, knocking the air out of him in a big 'whuff'.

Arthur hovered over his wheezing lover uncertainly.

“Well aimed, darling.” Eames congratulated him when he'd stopped gasping for air. “Not all that much lower and you would have rid yourself of my attentions for some considerable time.”

“Don't be absurd.” Arthur scolded, feeling relieved at Eames' good humour at the situation. “Your 'attentions' are the only reason I stay in this stupid town. Over the years you have bestowed more than sufficient largesse upon me, and at any time I might retire to a small cottage in an out of the way part of the country and live out my life as gentleman gardener.”

“If you did so, it would cause me immeasurable distress, but I wouldn't try to stop you.” Eames said, serious once more.

“Of course it would cause you distress.” Arthur replied, and felt as his face twisted slightly for the briefest of moments, displaying the pain that he tried desperately not to show. “You'd never be able to lure a valet of my skills to your service again.”

Eames stared at him for a moment.

Arthur was reminded suddenly that for all his light-hearted manner and larrikin-like behaviour, Eames was one of the most astute beings he had ever known. In that moment he realised that Eames had seen something in his tone or face, that Arthur had finally revealed too much.

That he had revealed that which he had managed to keep a secret for so long now.

He averted his eyes, unwilling to see the knowledge dawn on that beloved face. Unwilling to see the rejection that would follow, to see Eames draw back from him. The start of everything changing, everything he had built himself around.

This had never been part of their arrangement, after all.

The pleasures of the flesh ultimately meant nothing at all. It had been convenience that had drawn them together so often, and now Arthur had revealed a devastating weakness to the one person in the universe who could use it to hurt him the most. He didn't know if he would ever be able to recover from this.

He resisted when two strong, capable, hands tried to gently turn his face so that Eames could meet his gaze.

“Oh, darling.”

Arthur had never heard Eames voice so soft, so tender, so pained. 

He involuntarily looked over to ensure there was nothing wrong, the habits of a lifetime, and was caught by the love in those familiar eyes. A smile he had never seen, not once in all the time they had been together, was curving those kissable lips.

“Arthur, darling. I thought you knew.”

Arthur let himself be drawn forward, and there was the softest touch of lips upon his own. Then they were in each other's arms, holding each other tightly as if they would never let go.

There was an unfamiliar feeling inside, like he was overfull. Like he was a balloon with too much air inside, bursting at it's seams.

Maybe Eames finding out wasn't going to be so awful after all. Maybe the fact that everything was going to change was not such a bad thing. Maybe things could get even better.

Eames was murmuring in his ear, soft words of love and devotion, and sorrow for ever causing him pain.

When they finally released each other, they were wearing almost identical sheepish expressions.

“What in the world gave you the impression that I knew?” Arthur asked, familiar exasperation rearing its head.

“Darling, how could you not know?” Eames returned. “If I were any more obvious, I would be taking out an advertisement in The London Chronicle. How could there ever be anyone else to compare? Of course I love you, you old stick in the mud. You're everything, the only reason I can think of to keep going.”

Arthur felt himself choking on the flood of emotion. They were going to have a long talk about this later. Probably much later given that they were shortly going out to put themselves in the path of murderous villains, but in the meantime…

“I love you too, you know,” he said, and then rolled over until he was straddling a very pleased looking Eames. “And I think there's been enough talking for the moment, don't you?”

With that he joined their mouths together in a kiss that quickly went from heated to scorching. Four hands were roaming, fingernails leaving red marks behind, and Arthur broke the kiss to moan feverishly when a slick finger (where had the oil come from?) rubbed at his entrance before entering him in one smooth push.

One finger became two, and then three. Arthur relished the burn of not quite enough preparation, moving in accompaniment with those fingers as teeth scored his shoulder lightly, adding to the build up of sensations as he rubbed his aching cock against a strongly muscled thigh.

Then Eames was positioning Arthur above his cock. He threw his head back as he was gradually lowered onto the slick length. When Eames made no move to start thrusting, Arthur opened his eyes to see what was wrong, only to find that Eames eyes were raking over his naked body, stretched out on his cock, with a look that could start a forest fire.

Eames hands stroked gently up and down Arthur's thighs while they remained otherwise immobile, just breathing as they looked at each other.

Arthur was the first to break. Still holding Eames gaze, he clenched his internal muscles and then slowly rose and fell on Eames thick hardness, feeling it rub over that one spot inside that made him gasp. He felt his nipples pebble and his skin broke out in a light sweat in reaction, but he ignored that and slowly did it again.

Eames eyes were almost black with lust. He was trembling with the effort it was taking him to not just thrust upwards. To hold down those hips and just bury his cock to the hilt in that welcoming heat, again and again and again.

Arthur flashed his dimples, fully aware that they were one of Eames' trigger points, and leaned back a bit, making Eames rub against his internal walls more firmly, including the place inside that he was aiming for. He didn't bother to stifle his moans as he leisurely fucked himself on the hard cock penetrating him. His body splayed out, fully on display and loving it.

He teasingly ran one hand up his torso, tweaking one nipple, then the other, clenching tightly as the sensations his fingers evoked rippled through him. His own neglected cock jerking with each twist.

Eames let out a strangled groan, and thrust upwards almost involuntarily, shoving in hard right against the sweet spot, and Arthur gave a startled cry as pleasure rushed through him.

“Again,” he gasped as he writhed on the shaft deep inside him, trying to get more contact right where he wanted it. “Do it again, Eames, please!”

And Eames was only too happy to obey.

He grabbed Arthur by the hips and held him up as he withdrew almost completely and then thrust back in powerfully. His eyes were blown wide and his mouth was open slightly, moist and inviting looking.

Arthur wished for a moment that he had the co-ordination to lean over and kiss those lips, then another hard thrust had all thoughts flying from his head. leaving only the need for more, more, right there.

“Touch yourself,” the hoarse request took some time to percolate Arthur's awareness. “Darling, please, touch yourself. I want to see you come for me.”

This request was accompanied by an increase in strength of the hands bringing him down against the wonderful cock inside him. Arthur was inclined to be compliant, so long as the amazing fucking that he was on the receiving end of continued, building him higher and higher towards a peak he had never reached before.

His right hand moved down to his own length, which by now had leaked so much he required nothing further to ease the slide of his hand up and down as it jumped in his grasp.

The combination of Eames' cock pounding up into him and his hand firmly stroking his own length was soon too much. Arthur felt his balls drawing up and his whole body going into spasm. He opened his eyes wide and watched Eames watching him as he came and came and came, fluid spilling out over his hand and onto Eames.

Even as he was coming the fucking continued.

Just as he was starting to come down from the best high he'd ever achieved, Eames went rigid beneath him and pulled him down hard on his cock, holding him there as he jerked through his orgasm.

Arthur collapsed over his panting, sweating lover for once unconcerned about the mess. “That… was incredible,” he rasped out when he had his breath back sufficiently to speak without his words hitching. His body was trembling slightly in the aftermath, and he buried his face into Eames neck to hide his expression, a habit acquired long ago to keep Eames from seeing his face when he was emotionally vulnerable.

Eames stroked his hair and then his back. Long sweeping strokes that were soothing and warm, and helped ease the tremors. When Arthur was back under his own control, he lifted his head for a kiss and found Eames looking at him so fondly that something turned over in his stomach.

“Arthur, my darling,” he murmured after their kiss and a nuzzle of noses. “That was the sweetest moment I have experienced in the entirety of my existence. If all there was for me was that one sweet moment with you, I would be utterly content.”

Arthur only kissed him in reply, and then because he could not help his nature, began to calculate how much time remained before they were due at Berkeley Square.

Eames gave a great laugh and rolled him over again. “We have plenty of time, darling Arthur, and I plan to put it to good use.”

v^v^v^v

As with all plans, no matter how well laid, this one didn't survive first contact with the enemy.

Firstly, Lethbridge chose to abduct the young daughter of Mary, one of the more intelligent upstairs maids, and he managed to frighten her sufficiently that she felt she could place no reliance on the Marquis being able to return her daughter to her.

Mary was able to tell that some sort of substitution had been made. After the realisation that the Master knew of the plot and may therefore have the higher servants watching the lower ones, she set up Bess, one of the younger maids, as the chief suspect.

It was quite easy, really. First she mentioned to the rather highly strung young woman that she was being watched by the butler. Then, when the poor girl began showing signs of stress, Mary made sure to point her out to the butler, mentioning that she was worried that Bess was in some sort of trouble.

While the household surreptitiously watched an increasingly distraught Bess, Mary was discovering that meals were being sent into Wicken's quarters, despite his presence elsewhere in the house.

It was a simple matter after that to get a message out to Lord Lethbridge.

From then on the plan that had been so carefully devised began to work against them.

Those watching had been instructed to let the men carrying Tim Dally away escape, hoping to be led to the larger group and the mastermind of the whole thing.

Lethbridge, at this point aware that his plan had been discovered, had covered his tracks by the use of three barrels of oil which were set alight in strategic locations that stopped horse drawn carriages from following him.

The time taken to put out all three fires gave Lethbridge enough of a head-start that by the time the pursuers from Berkeley Square had got to the rendezvous point, the one Arthur had been watching, Lethbridge and his men were long gone. And so was Arthur.

The two men of the security force were able to tell them some of what had happened.

v^v^v^v

“Here! Jimmy, someone's over here!”

Damn, Arthur thought savagely to himself, signalling to the others to stay back as at least four pistols pointed in his direction. 

He could easily escape. These were hardly difficult opponents, but as he currently had no idea what had happened over in Berkeley Square and since these fellows were likely to be on the lookout now, the best way to ensure the safety of both Tim Dally and the servant's child was to either ingratiate himself with them or allow himself to be captured, and hope everyone would end up at the same place. 

Again giving the signal to stay put, he moved out of hiding.

Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as good at charming people as Eames was. Within a short amount of time he was tied, badly, to a chair in a small shed nearby while Jimmy, who appeared to be nominally in charge, supervised a rather shoddy job of 'working him over for information'. They wanted to know who he was and what he was doing there.

This part Arthur was good at.

He carefully waited until it would be convincing before he told them that he was Lord Eames' most valued servant. That Eames wanted in on the pot, which is why he was here, to get blackmail material. Lord Eames trusted him so much because they had known each other since boyhood.

He could see the greed light up the eyes of those men surrounding him, and made a show of begging for his life, promising that his Lord would pay handsomely for his return.

“How do we know he's telling the truth, then?” Jimmy asked suspiciously. His companions were too charmed by the prospect of making even more money to heed him, and before too long Arthur had been bundled into the waiting town coach. Unfortunately the coat of arms on the door had been covered, but even in the dark he recognised one of the horses, a dark bay with two distinctive white stockings. So Lord Lethbridge was using his own carriage and horses then?

He had been hoping to be able to track their progress through London, but one of the group had clearly just enough brains to knock him out, so it was with an aching head that he finally awoke.

He was in a dimly lit warehouse that by the echoing sounds was over half empty. The rank odour of the Thames coupled with a smell that reminded him a great deal of molasses told him his likely location well enough. The tobacco warehouses at the London Docks might be fairly new, but it hadn't taken them long to become infamous as a place for ne'er-do-wells to gather.

Just out of sight but not out of hearing range, he could hear a conversation between some of the less intelligent members of the group. Now he just had to locate Tim and the child.

Arthur considered removing his bindings (which were loose and left his arms and hands with far too much movement to be effective) but decided that it might be better to play dead (or unconscious anyway) for a while and see if he could get any useful information.

“Who talked to the wrong people?” That was Mr Brown, (or Lethbridge, apparently), and he was NOT in a good mood. “They had a decoy, Bobby, a decoy. That means that they were expecting us. None of us are safe now, and the sooner we get rid of the two brats the better. We need to get out of here, I am not going to hang for this!”

Arthur's heart froze. Decoy? Brats? Had the counter-plan been discovered? Shit, did that mean that they had taken Edward after all?

Lethbridge was smart, too smart to hold on to two children that could implicate him if they were ever found. There would be no ransom. This had gone beyond that now. The timeline had moved drastically forward, and Arthur was the only one here.

“But if we kill them now, how will we get our money?”

Quickly ditching the ropes, Arthur moved backwards and around some crates that were stacked haphazardly, and towards an opening he could see in the far wall. Had those idiots just dumped him without any sort of way to keep him in place, aside from the rope and the badly done bindings?

The conversation behind him was heating up further.

Lethbridge was all for dumping the children there and then and cutting their losses.

Prendergast, who from what Arthur could hear had financed the whole operation, was objecting, hoping to still get the windfall he had been promised.

Arthur had just reached the entrance he could see when there was the sound of a gunshot behind him.

Cursing the distance he had already put between himself and the two aristocrats, Arthur wavered for a moment. He'd been hoping to find someone who would take a message to Alverstoke House before going back to try and rescue the children. Right now he didn't know who the survivor was.

Mentally swearing at Lethbridge, Prendergast, Jimmy, and Eames, (whose fault all of this surely was), Arthur made his way back over to where the action was taking place. This time, he approached from the other side in case they decided to search for him. What on earth possessed them to conduct their highly illegal business right out in the centre of the open space like that?

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was Lethbridge, rather than Prendergast, currently bleeding out on the floor. Prendergast wasn't the one holding the pistol though.

It seemed that the new person in charge was Jimmy.

“-Jimmy,” Prendergast was saying desperately, “we can't just leave him to bleed out here, he's a Viscount! We'll be hanged!”

“That little bleeder we just done kidnapping is the heir of a Marquis.” Jimmy snapped. “You didn't have no problems putting him down the nearest well, and iffn we want to get paid for this here nights work, Lethbridge had to go. Right queered our pitch, he would have, and no mistake!

“But what shall we do now?” Prendergast said, watching with morbid fascination as Lethbridge gasped out his last few breaths.

“We drop Lethbridge's plan from here on out, for all we know whoever squeaked beef whiddled the whole scrap. First things first, we get away from here. We take one of these here boats across the river, make for a nice wee spot I knows of in Mint Lane. After that, we sit pretty for a few days until the whole thing quiets down a bit, and while we wait we can go over how we're going to get our fambles on the gelt.”

“Right.” Prendergast seemed to pull himself together.

Jimmy headed over to where Arthur had been kept tied, and sure enough, when they did their search they completely ignored the area to the other side of where he had been stashed. Arthur was torn between delight at how easy they were making this for him, and disgust at the slip-shod nature of the whole operation.

While they were searching, he had a look at the boats available. Taking a chance, he secreted himself aboard the one they were most likely to pick, given their numbers, and waited for the hue and cry to die down.

“Looks like he piked on the bean.” Jimmy said with some satisfaction. “Awright then, let's get these two fat geese onto the boat. How much longer are they going to be out for, anyway?”

“I have not the slightest notion!” Prendergast replied with some irritation as he directed some of his men in the placement of the children. “That was Lethbridge's bailiwick, not mine!”

“No matter.” Jimmy shrugged. “Iffn it takes a while, it'll just make 'em easier to move. Oi! You lot! Get over here, we're casting off in a cats whisker!”

Arthur remained curled up in a space he had found between some barrels and crates, covered with an extremely smelly damp cloth of some sort. He shuddered at the thought of so much disgusting material making contact with his skin and silently resolved to burn everything he was wearing as soon as he got the chance. 

He wondered briefly what Eames was doing, before he brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

The news that the children had been sedated was rather unwelcome. The chances of him being able to carry both of them to safety at the same time were very slim indeed.

v^v^v^v

Eames was almost frantic with worry that he was trying desperately to conceal. The security force had tailed Arthur's captors to the London Docks, but by the time they had arrived everyone was already gone.

Aside from Lethbridge, of course, but Eames could summon no sympathy for him. By now the upstairs maid, Mary, had been discovered as Lethbridge's unwilling accomplice. Some of the things Lethbridge had promised her would happen to her daughter if she breathed a word were so foul and disgusting Eames couldn't find it in his heart to blame her for what she had done.

At this point, Eames was holding onto hope that Arthur was still with the kidnappers, and still mobile and able to act when the time came.

v^v^v^v

When the boat docked again, Arthur stayed aboard until all sounds of movement and transportation had ceased. He knew the way to Mint Street, he and Eames had spent many a long day driving through London and learning her secrets.

Now he just needed to find someone who would carry a message to Eames and Alverstoke to let them know where they needed to be.

He took off his left boot and unscrewed the detachable heel, removing two of the three guineas within. Two should do it, but he had another three in the other shoe (no one ever thought to remove a prisoners shoes, it was shameful) and that should suffice him on the off chance that this gambit didn't work.

It didn't take him long to spy a sturdy looking man in neat, if a trifle threadbare, working clothes making his way across Tooly Street in the near distance. Arthur approached the man carefully, calling out to him when he was a little closer.

Given the man's reaction to being hailed, he must look a complete fright, Arthur thought ruefully. Luckily he had money and that made him less threatening to what appeared to be a labourer of some sort.

It didn't take Arthur long to convince the man use the money to take a carriage to Berkeley Square and give his message to either Alverstoke or his wife. He assured the man that he would be rewarded generously by whoever received the message, and then watched him depart towards the High Street, where a hackney was more likely to be waiting at this time of night.

That was the direction Arthur needed to go in too but first he stopped for a few minutes to consider his options, keeping in mind his slightly battered condition.

Given that he couldn't be certain that the man he'd sent the Berkeley Square wouldn't immediately run off with the money, he had to go forward as if he was on his own and expected to stay that way.

With that in mind, Arthur circled around and approached Mint Street from another direction, using the buildings either side of the very narrow Duke Street as cover.

Sure enough, there was activity going on in the square opposite. It wasn't difficult even from where he was hidden to see which building they were using as a temporary headquarters. The single guard they left on watch looked far more enthusiastic than competent.

Arthur was continually shocked that such an amateurish bunch of rank bad hats had managed to achieve anything, let alone the successful kidnapping of a peer's son.

Lethbridge must have truly been the brains of the outfit.

Debating with himself for a moment on whether he should leave the guard or incapacitate him now, Arthur eventually decided that one less to deal with was likely a good thing, considering he was currently solo. As far as weapons go, the only things he still had on him were the stilettos in his boots, but they would be fine for this job.

Feeling ridiculously melodramatic — this was the sort of thing Eames would love — Arthur carefully moved ever closer to the guard, who now seemed to be listening intently to what was going on inside.

In one quick movement, Arthur covered the man's mouth and thrust the dagger up between his shoulder blades, unerringly finding the heart. The guard would have collapsed, but Arthur lowered him gently and arranged him to look like he was sleeping in the doorway.

Then, choosing one of the upstairs windows that was already open, he climbed the rough brick surface and shimmied through the opening, dropping lightly to his feet on the other side.

From here he could hear another altercation going on downstairs, which was to his advantage as it would help hide any sound he was likely to make traversing an unfamiliar building in the dark. The room he was currently in was rather dusty, and his greatest challenge while finding the stairs was ensuring that he didn't sneeze.

He crept down the stairs and close to the door where the light and sound were coming from. Multiple checks of his surroundings showed that there was no one stationed in other parts of the house, so he made it to the door with no further encounters.

Gently, and slowly, he eased open the door, wincing when, despite his best efforts, the handle squeaked as he released it. Arthur held his breath, but it appeared no one had heard.

Prendergast and Jimmy were having another disagreement, it seemed.

The two children, Edward and a girl of maybe seven or eight, were huddled together in a corner directly across the room, trying not to draw attention to themselves.

Arthur could see three men present aside from the two arguing. That left at least one more somewhere, possibly more. Arthur stole another glance at the children. They both looked terrified, but he couldn't see any evidence of injury on them. The reason for their terror was soon apparent.

“No, Jimmy, there's no reason to hurt them yet, not until we're ready to send the letter!” Prendergast had put himself between the children and Jimmy, who was wearing a rather ugly expression on his face.

The three other men, currently standing between Arthur and the children, were looking between the two of them expectantly, like punters at a boxing match.

Jimmy gave a parody of a smile. “No need to be so squeamish. They'll be cocking up their toes right and proper before much more time goes by. Look at you, ready to cast up your accounts just at the idea! Just know, Baronet Prendergast, if you so much as think of tipping me the double or coming crab over me, I'm a cove as is up to slum and it ain't a good idea to cross me!”

By the look on Prendergast's face he was remembering Lethbridge bleeding out in front of him.

Arthur certainly was.

“Now,” Jimmy continued in slightly calmer tones. “We don't need the girl no more, so maybe it's time to send her home to roost, see? And after the way the cat's been at the cream pot, I feel like a bit of slice and dice to settle me down.”

“Oh, very well.” Prendergast said, sounding resigned and disgusted.

At this point both Edward and the girl broke out into loud sobs which was just the distraction Arthur needed. 

While everyone was looking the other way, Arthur quietly entered and half a minute later two more men had been removed from the situation.

The third caused a bit more trouble. He must have seen something out of the corner of his eye, so Arthur was unable to dispatch him silently. In the end Arthur resorted to a killing blow to the face when he saw the man was armed with a cudgel.

Jimmy and Prendergast had turned at this point, both raising pistols in his direction.

Arthur decided to take a gamble. He dashed in between them, hesitating for a second as if unsure which way to go before launching himself up to grab onto one of the low ceiling beams. He grinned when he heard two pistol shots beneath, followed by two thumps.

He landed back on the floor in a crouch and glanced swiftly around, only to find that he had been correct in his first count and that everyone was dead or dying.

Aside from the children, of course.

Ignoring the groaning men behind him, Arthur went straight over to where Edward and the girl were staring at him, no longer crying.

“Hello, Edward,” Arthur said in as friendly a manner as possible. “Why don't you introduce me to your friend?”

“My name is Sarah.” The girl said as Edward recognised Arthur and threw himself into his rescuers arms. “Are you here to rescue us mister? Please don't hurt us! We'll be good, promise!”

“A message has been sent to Berkeley Square.” Arthur told them both gently. “Lord Alverstoke will no doubt be along shortly along with various others. Let's leave here for a while, just in case there are any more of them.”

He didn't need to elaborate who 'them' was. Both children followed him obediently, although how far he could take them was limited by the fact that they weren't wearing shoes or proper outer gear. Hopefully Eames would be along any moment so there was no point in going too far.

Arthur took them across the square and broke into a building there carefully, hiding with Edward and Sarah just on the other side of the door so that he could see any movement in the place they had just left.

“Shhh,” He said to the children huddled up to him. “We must be as quiet as we possibly can until help arrives.”

And they settled in to wait.

v^v^v^v

Arthur was just starting to despair that the man he had given his money to had just taken it without passing on his message, when he heard the sound of several carriages approaching.

They stopped in the square outside, and Arthur listened intently for any indication as to whether these new players were friend or foe, when he heard a voice say, “This is where 'e tole me t'tell you t'come, mister, an' 'e said you'd give me the money.”

And then Alverstoke's voice responding, “You have done well, and here is the reward that was promised to you.”

Before the Marquis had finished his sentence, Arthur had gathered up the two children and had begun moving out of hiding and towards the square. The jostling as he moved them caused them both to awaken, and he was proud of how silent they were even as they looked up at him fearfully, their eyes shining like opals in the small amount of light available.

“Come now, Edward, Sarah,” this time he made no effort to keep his voice down, as they approached the carriages and the stamping horses and the men surrounding both. “Your parents have come. Just as I said they would.” And the feeling of joy it gave him to see their faces light up could have lit a bonfire. 

Arthur was engulfed in a feeling of victory. All of a sudden he felt as though he could walk a hundred miles more, damaged body or no. He handed both children over to their frantic parents and grinned recklessly over at where Eames was standing, looking as if he wanted to do nothing more than devour him.

By all that was wonderful, this was a glorious night!

v^v^v^v

It took all of Eames' self control not to grasp Arthur to him, to use his hands in the inspection of every inch of that beloved body, to insure no lasting harm had come to him. He had to be content with a swift visual inspection, and the rather feeble hope that Arthur's demeanour was an indication of his general health and well being.

For Arthur's eyes were alight with success and his dimples were on full view of the entire company.

Young Edward and Sarah may have been reunited with their parents, but Arthur was still holding sway over them, as well.

“He hit two of them and they just fell down! And he hit the man with the stick in the face, Mama!” said one small voice that carried clearly in the night. “And when two other men came after him with pistols, he did something really neat and then they shot each other!”

Arthur's whole body was telegraphing how pleased he was with how things had ended up, and Eames had to agree that getting two of the scoundrels to shoot each other was a masterful way to tie up some loose ends.

All of a sudden the desire to fuck Arthur into the ground rushed over him. Those brilliant eyes, that reckless laugh… Arthur must have seen it on him because he came over to stand beside him, ostensibly to give a confidential report.

He leaned over so his mouth was close to Eames ear, his body radiating so much heat that Eames could feel it through two layers of clothing.

“When we get home I'm going to tie you to the bed.” Arthur said, his voice low and quiet and doing nothing to quell Eames' desire. “And then I'm going to tease and torment you, and when I'm finally done playing I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't remember your own name.”

Eames was extremely glad of the cold night and the overcoat he was wearing, otherwise he would have been broadcasting his state to everyone present. 

As it was, Alverstoke raised one eyebrow at him, flicking his eyes between them before offering the two of them both a grin and his hand for shaking. His other arm was wrapped around his wife and son, the small boy clinging to his mother like he would never let go.

“Thank you both, so very much.” The Marchioness said, her voice catching and her eyes brimming with gratitude. “If there is anything we can ever do for you, either of you, you have only to ask.”

Alverstoke nodded his agreement, a sly smile still on his lips. “Come now, Frederica, let's take Edward and Sarah home to bed. Charles has agreed to take care of everything until tomorrow, when we can get the matter tied up properly.” And he turned his wife and son towards his waiting carriage, nodding to the footman standing at their heads.

Curry was sitting on the box and waited until the order to carry on was given from inside the carriage to get the horses moving.

Then the Marquis of Alverstoke and his family were headed away from Mint Street, back towards Southwark Bridge and home.

Eames turned to his somewhat battered but otherwise triumphant valet. “Shall we, then?” He asked, stopping himself from the habitual 'darling' just in time.

“We shall.” Arthur replied, and after giving assurances that they would be available the next day, they left the capable Charles Trevor to deal with the aftermath of what had turned out to be a very eventful night.

The End


End file.
